Now that I have reached what I like to call the harvesting era of my life – the time where I enjoy the seeds that I have sewed — I haven’t found many better moments than stepping out onto the court at the Arthur Ash Stadium.  

A few years ago I became friends with a young, gregarious fella named Nick Kyrios. You might know him from lighting up the court, with the only thing more electrifying than his serve being his tongue. But I just know him as easy breezy Nick, a guy who likes to chill and tenderly taught my son how to play the didgeridoo. 

I was a guest of Nick’s at the US Open this year which was an honor in itself, but when he asked me to step out on the court after the day's matches were done, I felt luckier than a pineapple in a pina colada. Creamy!  

As we rallied on this hallowed court, I thought about the state of great Texas – a place where tennis was for pretty boys at exclusive clubs. That wasn’t us, the McConaughey’s a rabble, a team of bandits barely allowed in their own kitchen let alone a club. But one day, by chance, my Daddy came home with two racquets and a fresh tin of tennis balls. It was very rare that my Daddy would come home with something new and I couldn’t stop myself from smelling those sweet fuzzy balls. And I tell you what, my Daddy couldn’t either. I’d sniff, then he’d sniff. I’d say quit hogging them balls, Daddy and let’s play a game. 

We’d play out in the yard on our makeshift court for hours until me, Daddy and those balls smelt very different. It wasn’t long before we started attracting the whole neighborhood, everybody wanted a piece of our action. I came to realize that most folks in east Texas had never seen a tennis match before, let alone played one!  

Before long our makeshift court made of oil drums and fishing nets became a hub for some of the spiciest matches you’ve ever seen. It looked bad from the outside, but you must remember that we always tend our own garden to our own needs. Entry requirements for the court? Forget about that, this may be the country, but it’s not the club.

I was proud of what me and my Daddy accomplished at home, so much so that I still carry some balls with me everywhere I go. On film sets you’ll always find me bouncing the ball up against the wall like Steve McQueen in The Great Escape. One day when we were filming the Wolf of Wall Street, I was bouncing away and DiCaprio asked what I was doing. I let him know that I was creating the enemy – a power that I must overcome. I operate better when I’m nose to nose with danger.

As I played at the Arthur Ash Stadium with Nick, I could feel him toying me, making me run side to side like an armadillo on a hot tin roof. I realized here that if I wanted to win I would need to create Nick as the enemy, even if he was my friend. Nick is one of the world’s best so lining up against me probably didn’t seem like much to him, but it is EVERYTHING to me. Now the enemy was in my crosshairs, I began to break a sweat – gettin’ greasy with it. Slippin one way, sliding the other. Oh yeah baby I’m liquid, spilling all over the court. 

Just as I start to increase the intensity, Nick hits a drop shot and I dive and miss it. WHAM! My face hits the hard court –  I bust my lip and see the ball roll on by. The pain makes me realize I miss my daddy. But I know he misses me too, wherever he is, up in that saloon in the sky. He’s sipping Jack on the rocks, watching me up on the box laughin’, just like all those times in the backyard when he’d see me hit the dirt after attempting a bit of magic with my racquet. 

I hear Nick’s now laughing too, but he aint my Daddy so I pick up the ball and walk to the service line. I smell the ball, that smell, makes me think of everything my daddy was, and everything I will be. Game on. 

I bounce the ball twice, look up at Nick and say “match-point motherfucker.”

He says, “what?” 

And then I throw the ball to the sky. As it drops I see the why, the who, the when and the why before striking that ball down the line of what is right and what is wrong, and you betcha’ I landed it on the right side of that line.

Ace of spades! Game and match. 

I put down my racquet and begin to leave the court. Nick’s confused, he says “where are you going?”

I pick up the ball which is now faded and covered with distinct orange dust from the desert.

Nick is confused and says, “where did you even get that?” 

I laugh to myself and take a biiiiiiiiiig sniff before letting him know: “I’m going to see my Daddy.”

What I’m saying is, find that thing that guides you – that leads you. Prepare for it to take you wherever you have to go. I followed my nose all my life and it always brought me home to my Daddy – where will yours take you?

McConaughey out.